


HOMO (sapiens)

by wocket



Category: John Mulaney - Fandom, Oh Hello - Kroll & Mulaney, Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF, US Comedians RPF
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 16:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17749346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: John Mulaney and Pete Davidson have been... bonding.





	HOMO (sapiens)

The only two people that call John Mulaney instead of texting him are his mother and Pete Davidson. John tries to hide the smile on his face when he sees that Pete is giving him a call.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Pete starts, and he launches into some big story. By the end of it, John’s head is spinning. “John. How about you come over tonight?” Pete’s voice is insistent over the phone. 

Is it really his turn to talk?

“I…. Well, okay. That sounds good, Pete,” John agrees, not entirely sure what he’s signing up for. Who knew what the young man could have in store?

*

“Come on in, man,” Pete says, welcoming John in later that night. Pete’s apartment is that weird combination of grand and collegiate Bohemian that only adolescent males can create. There’s art on the walls, but not _good_ art, mixed with movie posters and memorabilia from concerts.

John tries to ignore the way Pete’s eyes look down and settle on his mouth when Pete lets him into the apartment. John is a little flustered, feeling like a piece of meat because of the way Pete checks him out, but maybe there’s something else going on. John puts it out of his head. “How are you?”

“Honestly? It’s been a shitty week, dude.”

John doesn’t pry further. He’d heard enough about the Ariana stuff on the gossip rags. He’d had his own experiences with fame but it couldn’t be easy going from zero to sixty like that with everyone watching.

Pete shows John around the apartment. It’s almost a full ten minutes before he brings the drugs out.

“You’ve got Crohn’s,” John starts. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

“It’s sweet that you’re worried about me. But that means I should _definitely_ be doing this,” Pete says. “My stomach is fucked anyway.” He procures a straw from somewhere; it's already been chopped into little pieces. “Here you go, man,” he offers. “Better do some lines quick because if you don’t, I will.”

John’s lips are tingling. It’s been almost thirteen years to the day. Lucky number thirteen. John thought Pete was sober, too, but he figured it was rude to ask, especially with two grams of cocaine sitting right in front of them. 

John does a line of cocaine for the first time in over a decade, and his heart comes alive. His world suddenly switches to vivid color instead of black and white. He leans forward and snorts another line.

Across the table, Pete claps. “That’s what I’m talking about. Muscle memory, Mulaney.”

Pete takes the straw from him and snorts a few lines of coke.

The two of them pass the straw back and forth for a few minutes until they feel like they’ve got a buzz going.

“Whoo!” Pete shouts after doing another line.

John decides to lie on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. He feels so goddamn good, good in a way he hasn’t felt in ages. God bless Pete for making him feel this way again. 

Pete falls back beside him, stripping off his hoodie. “I’m sweating like a motherfucker,” he says. 

John takes a deep breath, trying to let his body adjust to the sensations of the drug. His heart is racing, along with his mind, and he can feel his heart thudding in his chest. After a few minutes, he realizes Pete is watching him, looking over in earnest.

Pete bites his lip. “You want me to put on some music, man?”

“Sure. How about -”

Pete interrupts John. “Sorry, dude, I’m not putting on any of your old white man music.” He gets up and goes over to his vinyl collection. Vinyl - John is impressed. Pete rifles through the collection and puts something on.

John doesn’t know what the music is but it sounds sexy. Pete dances a little, moving his hips from side to side, unaware that John’s eyes are on him at all. After putting the record sleeve down, Pete grabs a bong from the table. He takes a few healthy hits, so many that John’s not sure he’s ever going to offer any to him. John figures he might as well go all in tonight, but only takes one hit, preferring the feeling the coke gives him to the muted, silly feeling of Pete’s weed.

Pete grabs the baggie of coke and brings it to the couch. He shakes a little out on his hand and snorts it up, then shakes out a little more, offering his hand to John. John takes Pete’s tattooed wrist and brings his hand up to his nose, snorting the cocaine off Pete’s hand.

Pete can barely contain his grin, and John’s heart thuds in his chest. He can’t resist the kid’s smile, especially not when it stretched that wide, to each side of his face.

“Thank you,” Pete says suddenly, and John looks over to him. 

“For what?”

“Just, thank you, man,” Pete says, almost somber. John doesn’t like it when he gets introspective and ruminative. It scares him.

“You know you’re a special guy, right, Pete?” John says out of nowhere, not completely sure where it came from. 

Pete grins, trying to keep his teeth covered. “Okay, Mulaney? You gonna write a track about me on your next comedy album?”

“I’d never do that to you,” John says sincerely.

“Oh yeah? What would you do?” Pete says, egging him on.

“Where’s the coke?” he asks instead.

“What?”

“Where’s the coke, Pete?”

Pete dangles the baggie between them. He tosses it to John, who busies himself with getting a little scoop of powder out of the bag. He snorts it and it seems to settle him momentarily.

“It’s good, right?” Pete says, something in him still trying to impress John.

“It’s coke,” he replies matter-of-factly. Was there such a thing as bad cocaine?

John slides the baggie back to Pete, and their fingers brush on the trade. A few snorts later, they’re both lying back against the sofa again, feeling their heartbeats leap out of control. 

John closes his eyes. 

Later, he feels like someone is watching him. Keeping one eye shut and just barely opening the other, he sneaks a look at Pete. Pete’s just sitting there, eyes fixed on him.

John opens his eyes. “Pete.”

“John,” he says, in a low, strangled sort of voice, sounding resigned, and then he’s leaning forward and straddling John, holding on to him for dear life. Then Pete is kissing him, clumsy hands on his shoulders, tasting him deep like he might not get the chance to again. Surprisingly, John kisses him back fervently, feeling like he needs to do something with his mouth. 

John slides his hand into Pete’s hair, gripping the back of his head. His arm behind him guarantees Pete’s not going anywhere, balanced in his lap.

Pete eagerly tries to grind his hips into John’s. John tightens his fist in Pete’s hair. “Easy there, pup,” he says. With his other hand, John rubs his thumb across the tattoos on Pete’s knuckles. 

“We could get you a pair of job stoppers,” Pete laughs. “TWINK.”

“Open your eyes,” John chuckles. “You’re the twink.”

Pete chortles back and puts his arms around John’s neck. “You know, I’m glad we hung out.”

“Hung out? Is it over already?”

“You know what I mean,” Pete says, gazing into John’s eyes. He lowers his head and steals another kiss, nipping at John’s lips. “Asshole.”

John uses the hand on the back of Pete’s head to pose him at just the right angle for a dirty, open-mouthed kiss. He tightens his hand in Pete’s short hair until Pete closes his eyes and leans against him, seeking the pressure, turned on by the way John’s not letting him go.

“Bedroom?” John asks. His heart drops to the bottom of his chest. 

Pete tries to nod. “Oh yeah,” he manages to slip out. John lets go and follows him to his bedroom.

Once they’re in Pete’s bedroom, John backs Pete up against the bed. He slips his hands under Pete’s jersey, pulling his top off to reveal Pete’s tattooed chest and arms. He’s more fit than John expected. John slides a finger down Pete’s chest, down the divot in between his pecs. It catches briefly on the gold chain around his neck. “Get on the bed.” 

John watches him climb on the bed but isn’t slow to follow, reaching out for Pete and kissing the smirk off his face. They make out for a few minutes, getting closer and closer to each other on the bed. Pete starts to unbutton John’s shirt, sliding a hand underneath before he can get it off completely. After a minute he yanks it off, much to John’s amusement.

Pete runs a hand through John’s gelled hair, just to fuck it up, knocking the shape out of the carefully laid swoop. Pete always has this sick grin on his face, like he’s the only one in on a great secret. Despite the coke in his system, John feels a sudden urge to be kind to this boy. John is surprisingly gentle with Pete, and he seems appreciative of the way John handles him, of the tender way John’s hands cradle him close. It feels new, even to John, and Pete is so damn responsive, opening up under John’s hands.

John bows before Pete like he’s bent in supplication, starting his reverent approach with Pete’s hands. As he’s taking in every inch of Pete, John’s thumb passes over a thin scar on his forearm. Pete scrunches his eyes shut and looks away. John kisses the skin gingerly, keeping up his delicate ministrations, until it’s so much to bear that something in Pete bubbles over. 

“Fuck, dude.” Pete smiles at John and it’s brilliant. “Let me give you head,” he says, and John still has a dreamy look on his face when Pete goes for his belt buckle. John pauses. Everything stops for a moment, Pete frozen in front of him, and then the world speeds back up and Pete is unbuckling his belt, pulling it through the loops of his pants, and bending forward to take John in his mouth.

John shudders. He can’t stop looking at Pete; his eyes are transfixed on the young man on his knees in front of him. Pete smirks and swallows John down expertly. 

Pete sucks cock like he’s a pro; John has no choice but to lay back and let Pete go to work. John asks him that cliche question: “how did you get so good at this?” Pete seems so natural on his knees.

Pete’s eyes gleam. “What, you hoped I hadn’t done this before or somethin’?” He makes a teasing lick at the head of John’s cock. “Don’t worry; this is the first time I’ve really wanted to.” _That’s somehow worse_ , John thinks; _that doesn’t help_. He can’t help but notice the way Pete is grabbing his own dick every so often, clearly turned on himself. 

John looks down and sees Pete’s tattooed fingers wrapped around his dick, Rolex still on his wrist. 

“You can be mean,” Pete suggests, “if you want.” He keeps jerking John off. John bites his lip and taps his knuckle against Pete’s chin. He seems so eager to please that John finds it almost familiar.

“Is that what you think this is?” John asks with an amused smile. Pete was a ball of fire. 

Distracted, John slides his thumb over Pete’s bottom lip. He sucks John’s finger into his mouth suggestively. 

Pete watches the look on John’s face with interest, and a wide smile takes up residence on Pete’s face. It’s a beautiful fucking smile, and John can feel himself start to come undone. No wonder girls fell for Davidson left and right. Something about Pete’s gaze made you feel like it was just for you, like you were the only one in the room, if you could see through the sarcasm and smoke.

John leans Pete back on the bed, reaching for Pete’s neck to tug him closer. John kisses him, really kisses him this time. Pete’s actually a pretty good kisser, even if he tastes like energy drinks and marijuana. 

Pete starts unbuttoning his own pants before John can get to them, and it’s sort of sexy how impatient he is. John grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together for a second before pulling Pete’s hand away from his dick and holding it down somewhere by his side. “That’s not how this works. It’s my turn,” John tells him, unzipping his jeans slowly.

Pete looks excited, and lets John have his way. Before long his jeans are somewhere on the floor instead of on his legs. John strokes Pete’s dick with his long fingers. “You’re a wild thing, hm?” Pete bucks up into John’s hand. 

John had briefly considered letting Pete fuck him but got cold feet at the sight of his long, thick cock. John wasn’t sure he could give him a satisfying blowjob, let alone spread his legs for Pete. Running a hand down the inside of Pete’s thigh, John realizes Pete seems so damn into him that it doesn’t matter. Something heats up in his chest.

John makes sure his hands on Pete are nothing less than gentle, spreading his knees just a little wider so he can bend down between them and take Pete into his mouth. Pete makes an embarrassing little groan, trying to keep from thrusting into John’s mouth. 

John is delighted by how eager Pete is for this. He decides to participate just as earnestly, tonguing circles around the tip of his cock before taking him down. He struggles to deep-throat Pete, but he’s got him arching against the sheets anyway, sputtering curses and words of his own invention.

“Fuck, man,” John hears somewhere above him. He tightens his grip and swallows around Pete’s dick, causing the other man to moan. “Shit, don’t stop.”

John wouldn’t dream of stopping.

“Thank you,” Pete says when he finally comes, jizzing all over John’s hand. It’s a weird thing to say but John doesn’t give him shit for it, too high to care. It’s better than _I love you_.

*

The next morning, Pete wakes up early, while the sky outside is still lavender. Pete looks tired, but then again, he always looks tired. He turns on his gigantic flatscreen TV, finding some true crime documentary.

John wakes up and realizes he’s sharing a bed with Pete Davidson instead of his wife. John chooses to ignore the one side of him that would like to panic, and instead listens to his other side, which would very much like a nap and a cup of coffee. John curls up to Pete, resting his head on his friend’s chest. 

They watch a full episode of whatever the crime program is, and Pete is cuddlier than John expected. He winds his arms around John’s own. He seems happy, and John decides it’s a good look on him. 

Pete begins to get fidgety, and he runs his fingers across John’s bare skin, tracing it with his fingertips. John closes his eyes, letting Pete do what he will. He focuses aimlessly on the way Pete’s long fingers are sweeping across his skin.

“My head is killing me but if I stay any longer I think the wife will get suspicious,” John finally says to Pete.

“The wife?” Pete asks. He sits up straight in bed. “Fuck, man, I forgot you were married.” John’s not sure how Pete missed that fact. He can distinctly remember his left hand wrapped around Pete’s dick last night, wedding band still very much present on his ring finger. Now that he thinks about it, Pete had been staring at him with that silly, fond look most of the night anyway. Maybe he _had_ missed it. “Is this going to be cool?”

John hasn’t paused to consider that question yet. “We have some… exceptions,” he explains, looking on the floor for his button-down shirt. 

“Oh, right,” Pete says. “Cool.” Pete watches John look around for his clothes, feeling like he should offer more assistance as a host. “Do you want a Pop-Tart or something?”

John grins, and Pete assumes the look on his face is a nostalgic one because he’s not really sure what Mulaney is thinking. He pulls on his clothes and then he leans forward to catch Pete in one last kiss, and it doesn’t feel like the kiss of a man going home to his wife.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Uhhh… yeah. Okay. I’ll do that.” Pete reaches out for John again, not really sure if John is going to let Pete take him into his arms this time. “Come back? I just mean, you can come back sometime,” Pete tells him, trying to play it cool.

Nodding, John tugs Pete in close for a tight hug, smiling into his hair.


End file.
